


Inpatient

by bea_bickerknife



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Bisexual Murder Girlfriends, F/F, Fundamental but Vehement Misunderstanding of Germ Theory, Sickness/Total Lack of Comfort, The City's Sixth-Most-Germophobic Financial Advisor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-04-14 11:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14134740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bea_bickerknife/pseuds/bea_bickerknife
Summary: Between the two of them, it was difficult to say who had the more questionable bedside manner.





	Inpatient

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sonia R.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sonia+R.).



> As ever, I own none of the characters in this work, nor do I derive any remuneration from its posting.

Georgina Orwell had learned a great deal in medical school.

She had learned, for instance, which parts of the human body are most susceptible to blunt-force trauma. She had learned how to perform a perfect Y incision, no matter how strenuously the patient objected, and she had learned that a high-stress occupation, frequent attendance at crowded parties, a penchant for alcohol, and a restrictive but unpredictable diet (a phrase which here means “insistence upon basing food choices on fashion, rather than nutrition”) all weaken the immune system. By rights, then, the City’s sixth-most-important financial advisor, who had spent three of the previous four nights swilling cocktails with a vast array of fashionable companions, and who had eaten nothing for the past week but mango salsa, _croissants au beurre_ , and wafer-thin slices of poached pigeon, should have been on bed rest by now.

Instead, she was standing _beside_ the bed in a blindingly glittery evening gown, accessorized somewhat unconventionally with a pair of white gloves and a surgical mask that somehow failed to conceal the frown underneath it.

“You’re sick,” she said reproachfully.

As if on cue, Georgina coughed. “Apparently,” she replied. Reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand, she took a sip, wincing as she swallowed. Black eyes widened above the mask. “Oh, relax, Esmé,” she continued, her voice too hoarse to be entirely reassuring. “I’ll be fine once I’ve had a few cough drops. I probably caught a cold from someone at that damn opera gala the other n-.”

“Oh, no, no, _no_.” A haughty shake of her head accompanied each _no_. “No, you most certainly did _not_.”

“And what makes you – ” Speaking at her usual volume was beginning to give Georgina some idea of what it might be like to be an amateur sword-swallower, so she lowered her voice. “And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Because, darling, there are two things that are always _out_ , and _germs_ ” – she pronounced the word as though she didn’t want any part of it to make contact with her lips – “are one of them.”

Germs, as you may have learned from your family doctor, family surgeon, or family epidemiologist, are divided into four classes: bacteria, fungi, viruses, and protozoa. Rather like the military forces of certain alleged superpowers, these organisms are known to produce a variety of deeply unpleasant effects whenever they invade a foreign host. Although it is true that certain bacteria are necessary to the body, and although it is true that certain larger fungi provide a savory but earthy flavor in culinary applications, it is equally true that not a single bacterium, fungus, virus, or protozoan has ever been observed to harbor even the slightest interest in what is or is not _in_. In fact, _in_ ness almost always fails to prevent, diagnose, or treat diseases, which is why most reputable physicians prefer to consult a pharmaceutical manual when selecting courses of treatment, rather than a fashion magazine.

Explaining all of this, however, seemed at that moment like a Herculean task (the word “Herculean” here means “easier for a demigod than for a middle-aged optometrist with a respiratory infection”), so Georgina asked the obvious question instead. “What’s the other one?”

“Remorse.”

Something about the utter seriousness on what she could see of Esmé’s face struck her as inordinately funny. Laughter was exactly what her throat didn’t need, but she managed a few moments of it anyway before dissolving into a hacking cough that sent the younger woman backing hastily toward the door. “ _Honestly_ , Esmé,” she croaked once the fit had passed, “if you’re that terrified of catching it, I’ll just leave. My medicine cabinet’s probably better stocked than yours is anyway.” With that, she shifted the covers and prepared to sit up.

“No, it isn’t,” countered Esmé, locking the door with a decisive _snick_ , “and no, you _won’t_. As I’m sure you recall, I’ve been selected to host this year’s art auction for the Financial District Uncharitable Giving Fund. It’s an absolutely tremendous honor, and it’s scheduled for this evening, and I refuse to run the risk of my guests contracting some sort of _plague_ from attending an event at my penthouse.”

Either Georgina was more feverish than she thought, or there was a flaw in Esmé’s argument. “Then shouldn’t I take my plague _out_ of your penthouse?” 

Esmé heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I’ve considered several routes, and I’m afraid it simply isn’t possible to reach the front door from this bedroom without entering” – she shot a pointed look at Georgina, who was trying and failing to suppress another bout of coughing – “and thereby _contaminating_ either the ballroom, which contains the paintings, or the banquet hall, which contains…” She paused with a dramatic shudder. “The _food_. Now, we passed through both last night, of course, but Jerome’s friend is an esteemed physician and he informs me that the virus should no longer be viable on the surfaces in those rooms, since it’s been nearly twenty-four hours, but given that my guests are due to arrive sometime around five o’clock – ”      

“You’re placing me under house arrest.” Georgina had just enough energy to grumble, but not nearly enough to argue.

Apparently satisfied that the patient wasn’t in any condition to put up a fight, Esmé reached for the doorknob. “It’s really more of a quarantine, darling,” she assured her, and even with the mask obscuring her mouth, Georgina could tell she was smirking. “In fact, I happen to have a _sensational_ little nurse’s uniform I might let you see me in afterward…”

Georgina opened her mouth, but before she could ask whether she meant _afterward_ , as in after the auction, or _afterward_ , as in after the cold had abated, Esmé had slipped into the hallway and locked the door behind her.

“I’ll have the butler bring you those cough drops,” she trilled, and Georgina sank back onto the pillows, fervently hoping for the former.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was requested by Tumblr user non-binar-ysunset.


End file.
